


You Hold Him in the Palm of Your Hand

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Plug, Community: daily_deviant, Dom/sub, M/M, Ownership, Penis Size, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is your perfect Percy, and he is yours to do with as you wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Hold Him in the Palm of Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is my offering from August for Daily Deviant. Pure porn this month! Er, and second POV. Thank you as always to my alpha and beta readers, because I really needed you this month. And of course, I don’t own the world or characters of Harry Potter, but boy oh boy are they fun to play with like this.

You walk down the hall of the Ministry, your robes snapping with sharp movement. When you pass a closed door, you smile slightly; you know who is inside. You know how many there are, including the Minister himself, as well as his assistant Percy Weasley. The smile becomes a smirk as you walk on, a quickness to your step.

The men’s loo one floor down is rarely used. You lock the door after you slip inside, the magical signature unique and known only to yourself and one other. Another spell is cast upon the mirror, turning smoky glass into a window into the room above. There are wards, of course, but your spell is keyed to a person, not a place. You are linked with Percy in a way the wards cannot block. He has given himself to you, given his soul to you, and you now hold him in the palm of your hand.

He is yours, to do as you wish.

In the mirror, he sits in his chair, back upright, his hands folded upon the table as you requested, fingers locked. You gave one instruction: his hands are to be visible at all times, so he cannot touch himself, nor betray what is happening.

Your smirk grows. This is going to be fun. You wonder just how quiet Percy can be.

There is nothing beneath your robes but skin, your prick still soft and limp. You take it in hand, stroking it quickly, wrist twisting as you roll over the head roughly. It hardens, and Percy jerks in the mirror. He raises one hand, and you imagine him apologizing. Telling the Minister that of course there is nothing wrong. When his hands fold together again, the knuckles are white with tension.

Perfect.

He is so very perfect.

He is your perfect Percy, with his pale skin and freckled shoulders. You can map each one by memory, tongue tracing from dot to dot when you are in bed at night, curled behind him. You think about him now as you work yourself to full hardness, hips rocking slightly. You love the path across his back, the way the freckles spatter there as if someone threw paint at his skin. You’ve spent hours licking them, touching each one with your tongue until he whimpers and whines. You lube your prick before you do that at night, slick and sliding between his thighs until he cries out, begging to be fucked.

You love it when he begs.

You want him on his knees, arse in the air, cheeks spread just for you. You want to hear his moan, his little whispered cries as he calls your name and waits, shivering.

Your prick stands at full attention now, thick and hard, a dot of fluid leaking at the tip. When you thrust into the circle of your fingers, Percy squirms in his seat, reflected in the mirror before you. You know how it must feel for him, knowing that you’re getting thick and hard, thrusting into his arse, the dildo you placed there this morning echoing your every movement.

The harder you get, the more it grows. The _bigger_ you get, the more it grows.

You move, it moves.

You can fuck him from a distance, while he sits there in that meeting, trying desperately not to make a sound. He’s such a good boy; you trust he won’t fail.

Another spells layers over the first, and your prick thickens further in your hand. It elongates, and Percy’s eyes widen as the dildo pushes further inside of him. The Minister touches his arm, and Percy jumps, shaking his head, hands flat on the table.

His fingers curl, fingernails tight against the wood. He digs in. He holds on. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and you use that to thrust again, pulling back and pushing forward, sending the dildo deep inside of him.

You know he moans when they look at him with concern, and his hands turn to fists, held tight. You twist as you fuck your hand, rotating just so, and he can no longer stay still. He falls forward, and they catch him, helping him stand as he cries out.

You stop.

You won’t endanger his job.

He breathes in rough gasps, the air coming dear into his lungs. He stands there for a long moment, supported by two others, before he manages to disengage and stand on his own. His body slowly straightens, proud and strong, and he nods before he strides to the door and steps out.

Indigestion, you suspect. It is the best excuse.

You vanish the spell from the mirror; you no longer need to see. You know where he is, and where he will be, and moments later the door opens exactly as you expect.

He redoes the locking spell, then sinks to his knees without a word.

You gesture, and he opens his robes, showing his aching, weeping prick. He moans when the fabric passes over it. He is close, so very close; it will not take long to send him over the edge.

You love that you can make him the instrument of his own pleasure. Fingers tangle in his red curls and you pull him to your crotch, letting your prick slip between his sweet lips. His tongue slides along your magically enhanced prick, too long for his mouth now, too wide to be comfortable. You fuck him anyway, and he gamely sucks, and with every thrust he whimpers.

You tug the robes up, baring his arse for you to see the dildo that works its way in and out of him, fucking him even as you press into his mouth. A small twist, and he cries out again.

You want to see him finish like this, on his knees in the men’s loo, sucking your thick cock down his throat. He whispers _Sir_ and _please_ , and his hands fist in your robes, every inch of him begging for his pleasure. And you whisper _yes_ as you push into his open throat, watching the tears rise at the corners of his eyes.

He comes in thick white spurts across the floor, his prick untouched, his throat swallowing, begging you for your orgasm.

Not yet, not when he is here. Not when his arse is so well prepared, so open for you.

You lift him, taking care with his limp limbs, with the way he can barely stand. Hands against the sink, he leans over it, staring into the mirror as you step behind him. You withdraw the sopping wet dildo from his hole, and you show him how large it has become. With murmurs of _good boy_ and _sweet boy_ , you replace it with your prick, sliding in easily as he welcomes you home.

One hand beneath his chin lifts his head, baring his throat as you twitch your hips. Another whisper and your prick changes again, stretching him tight, filling him completely. He moans, shivering in your grasp, and that is perfect. That is everything you want of him, because you want _everything_ he has to give.

He is so _good_ for you.

One hand on his cock, the other at his throat, you milk his soft prick until he comes back to hardness. You can hear the pain and the need as he thrusts with small movements, fucking himself on your huge prick. You want him to go over the edge again, you want to feel him lose control around you.

You love how he comes undone, how he does this only for you.

Hips rolls forward and you go deep, pressing his legs against the porcelain sink. He whimpers; another thrust brings out a whine.

You are too close, too aroused by the flush of his pale skin, the taste of his sweat under your tongue as you nip at his throat. You fasten on, sucking a small red mark as you begin to fuck him in earnest, pushing him against the sink, pushing his prick into your slick fist. He quivers with need, and you tell him _now_. The cry comes from somewhere deep in his chest as he spills into the sink, and you fill his arse when it goes tight around you.

When you withdraw, the dildo goes back in, a spell locking it in place.

You sink to the floor with him, and hold him until the shaking is done. With gentle hands, you clean him and care for him, making him perfectly presentable once more.

Perfect Percy.

Your kiss is gentle, loving, soft and chaste upon the lips before he goes. Behind a locked door, you light the mirror once more, and see him walk back into his meeting. They all ask after his health, you are certain, and he assures them he is well.

Then he sits, the dildo pressed deep within him, holding a part of you there as well.

You are linked.

He is yours.


End file.
